SometimesI expect her to be standingin the sun,her nose white from a thick protective cream,She is struggling to carry a load of heavy grocery bagsUnwilling to accept help,And she insistsSo stubbornto ignore an injured back,An ache,And always walking furtherand further,away from memory,Into an eternal silence beneath the cold stoneslay her bones,becoming one with the earthWhere she struggled to growflowers in a balcony over run by cats,Further and further fades her figureas the sun sets pink towards violetblue,theretowards the horizon walks away from me ,My mother.